My Angel
by GDAE24
Summary: A.U. - John and Sherlock meet when John first gets out of uni, before he goes to the war. After having a one night stand, John once again finds Sherlock and marries him a few weeks later before heading off to war. Warnings: mentions of past cutting and present cutting in chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer****: As alway, none of this is owned by me, well the story line is, but everything else is BBC's.**

** Hello! Here's another story, less angsty than the last one if you've read that. Hope you enjoy, yadas are always appreciated, and chapter two - as always - shall be posted on Saturday. Oh, and smex scene in this chapter, you've been warned!**

_**Chapter 1**_

John sat at his local bar, a beer in hand looking around. He had just finished speaking with his family, and now he was in a bad mood. He was so tired of them trying to control his life, always telling him what he could and could not do. All he wanted was a one night stand, just some way to get his mind off their pestering words and relieve his anger.

He wasn't necessarily gay, per say, but he was no stranger to men. He'd had both men and women in his bed, but had never gone for an actual relationship with a man. Sure, he'd had a serious relationship or two with a woman, but he'd never had a man that he saw more than one (or rarely two) night.

He sat in the booth and scanned the crowd. Sighing, he set down his glass and held his head in his hands. Not a woman or man he would ever remotely go for. He heard the door open but didn't look up, taking another swig of beer. Plus, even if he were to find someone, they would most likely have already been with him. That's how it usually worked in small towns.

"I'm not overtly fond of an over-controlling family either." came a deep, baritone voice from behind him. He looked up and felt his heart stop for a second before beginning to beat rapidly. Before him stood the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. Dark curls lay like a crown on his head, the man's sharp cheekbones and Cupid's bow lips gave him a slightly angelic quality. His lanky figure looked gorgeous with that coat and suit around it. The man was utterly breath-taking, and John had never even met him before.

It took him a few seconds to register what the man had said, and he confusedly asked, "What? H-how did you know that?"

He sat down next to John, ordering a water and turned to explain. "Well, you're in a bar looking like a beaten puppy. You're fairly young, so probably not sure what _exactly _your life plan is. And your phone keeps beeping, the screen keeps coming on and reading Mom, Dad, and Harry. Simple deduction."

"Wow, that's - I have to say, that was bloody amazing. Who are you?"

"The name's Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes." he held out his hand, "Pleasure."

John laughed, grabbing his hand, "The pleasures all mine, Sherlock. John, John Watson."

"It's lovely to meet you John."

"Again, I have to say, the pleasure is all mine. You are gorgeous, what are you doing here in such a small town?"

He happily noticed the blush that brushed across those wonderfully high cheek bones.

"I'm here for my work."

"Ah?! And what does a genius like you do?"

Sherlock blushed harder at the compliment, "I'm the world's only consulting detective."

"So you...?"

"I solve crime for the police when their out of their depth, which is always."

John gave a snort, yes the police were quite inadequate, "So did our department call you, or are you here for a major crime?"

"Your department called me after the inspector forced me to help. I don't know who trained your people, but they are dumber than the ones in London, which is saying a lot." He rambled. Sherlock had always been a quiet, keep-to-yourself kind of guy, but John Watson was making him feel strange. He didn't know what to do, or what it was his body was wanting. He felt himself drawn to the man sitting next to him, even if he did only just meet him. That confused him even more.

"Well, not much gets on here. It's a boring little town and the most we usually get are a few shop-lifters. Is your case still going on?"

"No, solved it today, I'm going home tomorrow around noon. Back to London."

"London's a very large city, probably a lot more to do there than there is here."

"Oh, yes. There are so many more murders, interesting crimes, smart criminals. Ways to keep myself from exploding with boredom."

"So you like it when people die?" John asked incredulously.

"They're going to do it anyways, why not make it interesting?" Sherlock stated. He looked at John, and the shocked expression (the words "freak" flashed through his mind and he rubbed his arm unconsiously) and wondered if he said too much. Maybe he'd blown it with the stranger. He felt his heart sink, but still didn't understand what exactly his feelings were. Why did he want to keep a man, whom he didn't know, close and get to know him?

John face split into a smile, "Well, that's one way to look at it. Definitely boring around here, so whatever keeps your mind occupied." Sherlock smiled back, his heart fluttering. What was this? "Well, if you don't have anywhere to be, how about I show you around the town, take you back to my flat?"

"I already know the town- Oh!" Sherlock said with widened eyes. He was being hit on, this man liked him. Was this what he was feeling? Was he attracted to this man? He'd never felt this before, and it honestly scared him. He looked at the man next to him and wondered what exactly this was, what he was supposed to do. What were the protocols? What was he planning to do? Questions ran through his head, ones he couldn't answer because he didn't know. He hated not knowing, so of course he said, "That sounds nice."

John quickly got up and paid for his drink, holding out his hand. Sherlock hesitantly took it, not sure what else to do with himself. John led him out and began the trek to his house. It was slightly cold with a breeze, and he felt Sherlock shiver slightly, and watched him pull the coat tighter around himself. John couldn't wait to get the coat _off_, as well as the rest of those well-fitting clothes.

"So, you've just finished college?" Sherlock asked.

"Okay, how did you know that? Do you know what I majored in as well?" John laughed.

"The bar was full of college kids yet you sat alone, and you bought the cheapest alcoholic drink on the menu suggesting you don't have much money, yet you have some. As well as your age. And you're thinking of being a doctor."

"How-"

"The precision in your movements, and faded cuts on your fingers suggest you're in the surgical field."

"You _are_ a genius!" John exclaimed. Sherlock looked down, his hair falling over his eyes and the blush returning to his cheeks. John laughed and began to pull him up towards a building. "My flat's on the third floor." John stated, dragging Sherlock through the doors and up towards the stairs.

Sherlock followed wondering what exactly he was supposed to do. What did John expect from him? Sherlock was confused and he did not like being confused, he didn't like wondering what to do.

John pulled out his keys and opened the door to his small, one room, flat. It had one window, a small kitchen, living room, bath room, and his bed room. He pulled off his coat the pulled off Sherlock's before entering the kitchen and grabbing two glasses.

"You can sit on the couch. Would you like a drink or would you like to watch the telly?"

"I'll have water, if that's okay. And telly is boring, predictable." Sherlock said, much preferring to watch John than crap telly.

John gave him a huge smile as he sat down, handing him his ice water, "You are like no one else, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock looked at him with wide eyes. He was confused as to why John would pick him, of all people, to compliment and invite to his house. John looked into the smaller man's eyes and began to slowly lean forwards. His eyes fluttered closed, and Sherlock was confused as to what he was doing until he felt John's lips on his. He'd never kissed anyone before, no one had ever wanted to, but he thought it felt nice as he let his own eyes fall closed.

John gently laid his hands on Sherlock's hips and began to drag him slowly closer. Sherlock fumbled with what exactly to do with himself, he had no clue what to do, but was beginning to think he might know where this was heading. John opened his mouth slightly and pushed his tongue along the seam of Sherlock's lips. Sherlock hesitantly opened his mouth to mimic John's, hoping he was doing this right.

Sherlock had never let anyone near him, always preferred to be alone, but there was something about John. He felt with every touch, with every passing second, he was getting himself deeper with the man. He'd never felt so much emotion, it was a little overwhelming, but he accepted them. He was so used to not feeling anything, he fell, hard and fast. Sherlock didn't know much about human emotion, but he could swear that this was love. Yes, Sherlock Holmes was quickly falling in love.

John finally succeeded in pulling Sherlock fully onto his lap. The kissing quickly became more and more heated and John began to unbutton Sherlock's shirt. He pulled back, moaning out bedroom and lifting Sherlock off him and grabbing his hand. After successfully pulling the oddly stiff man to his bedroom, he pushed him onto the bed.

Sherlock felt his nerves grow, not because he didn't want this, because dear God he thought he wanted this. What he didn't want was John knowing he'd never done this before, that he was a virgin. He also was worried what John would say, were he to see his naked flesh, thankfully the low light didn't provide the best for details.

When he felt himself being pushed onto a soft mattress, his heart fluttered strangely in his chest. He felt John crawl on top of him and once again began kissing him. John hands deftly finished with Sherlock's shirt and threw it off the man's body, he tensed slightly, but John was too preocupied to notice the small scars, old and new, covering his arms and torso. Sherlock was unsure of what to do himself, so he copied John. He grabbed at the other man's shirt, tugging up, and John pulled it off.

[Smex scene! Ahhhhh!]

John stared at the shirtless beauty before him, even though he could not see much in the dark, and began to trail kissed down his neck. He stopped at Sherlock's pulse point, experimentally sucking. Sherlock gasped, leaning his head back to give John more room. After he was satisfied, John moved down, licking and nipping at Sherlock's collarbone, the younger quickly mewling at the pleasure.

John made his way to one of Sherlock's small, pink nipples, giving it a lick. Sherlock groaned, arching his back. John covered the nub with his mouth, sucking it hungrily, loving how responsive his partner was being. The man was acting like a virgin, all fumbly and cute, but John quickly tossed the idea away. A man this beautiful at this age was definitely not a virgin.

After John was happy with his work on both, now pert, nubs, he began moving downwards. His hands were ahead of him as they began to listlessly undo Sherlock's trousers. Sherlock forced himself to relax so as not to give himself away, he trusted John. Sherlock gave a small moment to consider how fast he was moving, but the thoughts were swept from his mind as his trousers and pants were pulled off in one go. He was now completely exposed, and the nervousness pounded through him like the adrenaline from a case.

John pulled off his own with the same swiftness, and then they were both naked. John raked his eyes over Sherlock's body, God, the man was an angel, completely, utterly dazzling. John wished the lights were better so he could see more acute details, but couldn't find it in himself to pull away from Sherlock long enough to do so.

He began to move his fingers up Sherlock's thighs, stroking and reveling in the softness of the man's skin.

He kissed his inner thighs and knee before murmuring, "Spread your legs." Sherlock did as he was told, not really knowing what was going to happen next. John moved his fingers farther up before reaching his member. He gave it a few strokes, which caused Sherlock to practically yell at the newest sensation. He'd never felt any pleasure like this before in his life. John crawled back up Sherlock's body and kissed him once again, reaching towards his drawer, fumbling around for the lube.

He quickly clasped it and brought it out, momentarily breaking the kiss to coat some onto his fingers. He moved his lubed hand back down the younger's body before spreading his cheeks and circling the small, puckered entrance. Sherlock stiffened at the new turn of events. He guessed what John was doing, but was still a little surprised at the finger that began to work its way in.

John groaned, the man was unbelievably tight, and it was just his finger. He wiggled it around, trying to loosen up the walls. He then began to pump it in and out. Sherlock lay there, staring down at John, trying to get used to the odd feeling invading him.

John gave a few more strokes before slowly pushing in a second finger. He felt Sherlock's walls clamp down onto the new addition, and moaned once again, "Loosen up, come on, relax." John murmured into Sherlock's ear. Sherlock had his brows furrowed as he relaxed, the second finger slightly uncomfortable.

John wiggled his fingers and, with doctor like precision, he found Sherlock's prostate and rubbed it. He was surprised at the load yelp, and a load gasp of "JOHN!" as Sherlock impaled himself further in the others fingers. John really loved how responsive the other was being, showing him he was definitely doing the right thing.

John began to work in a third finder, beginning the final stretch. Sherlock felt a burn with the third and worried at his lip. John certainly was well endowed and he was worried as to how it would fit inside him, but he knew he was being preposterous. Obviously other men had done this, as well as women, he would be fine as well.

After a few more minutes, John deemed Sherlock ready, pulling out his fingers. Sherlock mewled at the loss, and John felt a wave of protectiveness wash over him. He knew he was only a one night stand and he'd just met the man, but something tugged at his heart. He never thought he'd seen a man look so vulnerable before.

He slathered himself in the lube, and placed himself at Sherlock's entrance.

"You ready?" Sherlock gave a nod which John barely made out before pushing in. He slowly buried himself into the hilt and stilled, giving Sherlock time to adjust. Sherlock felt as if he was being split in two, and gave out a quiet whimper before covering his mouth hoping John hadn't heard. It wouldn't hurt that much to an experienced person.

John had never felt someone so tight, it was so hot and it felt like heaven inside Sherlock. He waited a few more seconds before pulling out and thrusting back in. It wasn't all that slow, but it wasn't fast. To Sherlock, it felt like he was going to break soon, he felt a small amount of wetness inside and knew he's acquired a small tear, but he knew he probably would with his inexperience.

He felt the burning begin to slowly fade, the feeling of fullness and rightness washing over him. He swore that the two fit perfectly with one another, unbeknownst to them, though, they did. Sherlock soon began to feel pleasure spike through his body, causing him to once again gasp and mewl. John began to change angles until he heard Sherlock scream in pleasure, smiling to himself and thinking "prostate."

He began to pound into him and Sherlock felt something in his stomach before he knew what was happening.

Then he knew, "John! Jo-hn, I-I'm gonn-a-". John was surprised at how quickly Sherlock reached his peak, but cut him off with a searing kiss.

"Come" he whispered. Sherlock yelled as his vision went white and he came. John felt his heat become tighter, almost painfully, and felt the walls twitch and spasm as Sherlock spent himself. John felt bad when he heard a whimper come from Sherlock's mouth, knowing that pounding into his oversensitive hole was probably a bit painful. John sped up, hoping to reach his own climax soon.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's neck, burying his face in his neck very aware of John's member still inside him. John felt his orgasm rip through him and spilled his seed into Sherlock's body sooner than usual. Sherlock's eyes rolled back into his head when he felt John's come inside him. The heat felt wonderful and Sherlock felt sated and happy, whimpering as John's softening member was pulled from his body. John lay next to Sherlock and watched as the smaller man fell asleep almost instantly.

[End of awkward smex scene]

When Sherlock woke, he did so to an empty bed. He was momentarily confused until the memories from last night washed over him. He felt a smile grow on his lips as the slowly sat up. He moved to get out of the bed, but a spike of pain came from his lower back. He tried to ignore it, but it made him wobbly as he picked up his scattered clothes and dressed.

He walked into the living room to find John in the small kitchen making a small breakfast. John looked up and smiled, the man was beautiful, but it was time to part ways.

"I had a great time last night," John began, "thank you, it was the distraction I needed." He ignored the hurt look that flashed across the beautiful features. Was that all Sherlock was? A distraction. "Well, you should probably get to your train. Good luck with future cases." John said, walking to the door and opening it.

Sherlock slowly walked out and turned. "Is that it? Will we not see each other again?" he asked confused. He didn't think sex was like this, didn't it bring people together?

"Sorry, I'm not looking for a relationship. I hope there are no hard feelings." John said. Sherlock nodded, holding back tears. He quickly turned and walked towards the stares. John shut the door but couldn't help himself as he quietly cracked it open once again. He looked out to watch Sherlock leave. He noticed a limp that wasn't there before and caught him wiping his face, his hands coming away wet.

John felt his heart break a little. What had he done?


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer****: As alway, none of this is owned by me, well the story line is, but everything else is BBC's.**

_**Chapter 2**_

A week passed, and the memories of Sherlock were constantly bombarding John's mind. He remembered, when he went to go clean his sheets, a small smear of blood, and he knew it had to have come from Sherlock and felt guilt wrack his mind. Now that he wasn't in the heat of the moment, he started to wonder, had the man been a virgin? He didn't believe it, but all his evidence, his memories, pointed to yes.

After a couple days, John decided to finally do something with his career, and signed up to be an army doctor. He was to report to Bart's hospital to be trained and tested for two weeks, then he would be heading to Afghanistan. If he remembered correctly, Bart's hospital was in London. Sherlock was in London as well.

He hoped to see the man, talk to him. God, he didn't know what he'd say, but he hoped he would when he saw him. He definitely needed to apologize. He caught his train around noon, and looked back to take one last look at his town. He'd given back his apartment, sold and packed most of his things, and now only carried a small duffle bag. He was supposed to be in service for two years, after that he wasn't sure what he was going to do, but this was a start.

His parents and sister were quick to argue, not wanting him to be in danger or just leave in general. They'd been constantly calling him and texting him. So he decided to sell his mobile as well. So he had quite a bit of money to tide him over for the next two weeks. Though, the army was supposed to take care of most of his needs.

He looked out the window and watched the rural scenery change into that of urbanized London. His eyes widened and he couldn't get enough, it was beautiful. It figured that a glorious man like Sherlock would live in a place that would be close to his own beauty (yet it didn't quite reach it, Sherlock was more beautiful than anything).

John let his head drop into his hands, it was thoughts like these that made him know the whole one night stand with Sherlock was the biggest mistake in his life. He wished he could get into a relationship with the man - which was a first for him - but he knew long distances didn't really work. Maybe if Sherlock was still single when he came back, if he didn't renew his services.

He got out of the train and tried to hail a cab, but none would stop for him. He sighed and began to walk the distance, maybe he'd try again a little ways ahead. Walking allowed him to gape at all the buildings and streets and the people that made up London. He smiled, this place was very different from home. He checked his watch, he didn't need to be at Bart's until later that evening. Also, checking the map he'd bought, he determined he could walk the rest of the way.

He passed many little shops and some huge corporation buildings and some small houses. He went to the next street, checking his map once again to make sure he was going the right way. Looking up at a small building, he noted that the road was Bakers Street and it had a small row of shops and flats.

He heard a door open and close and looked up. His breath caught in his throat. Running down the stairs from 221B was none other than Sherlock Holmes. The man raised his hand, yelling out "Taxi!" in his deep, baritone voice, and like magic, the taxi instantly stopped for him. John watched as he climbed into the cab and it drove off.

John looked up, memorizing the address and hoped to dear God that this was where he lived. He would definitely come back tonight after checking in with Bart's and talk to the man who's been the center of his thoughts. He wondered if taking this rout might have been destiny.

John walked the rest of the way to Bart's with his head in the clouds, no longer caring much for his surroundings. When he finally arrived he looked at the map to see how far he was from 221B and noticed the police station was less than a block away. He smiled and thanked his lucky stars that he was surrounded by ways to get near Sherlock.

He walked up the steps and looked for the reception center. There he would check in and get his information, after that he could quickly settle in then go back to 221B. Quickly finding the center and learning where everything was, he was shown temporary housing and his rooms (which he shared with another man) as well as where he'd be working before being transferred. He met the few people he'd be training with, and was told to be in the conference room at O six hundred sharp.

He plopped his small duffle bag onto the small bed he was given and made his way out. He didn't pass many people, but he knew that most of them were out. The rules stated that you only needed to be present in the building during working hours and he figured that some either had homes of their own or were out drinking. As he exited the building he quickly hailed a cab, trying to copy Sherlock's moves of confidence. He was pleased that after three tries, he succeeded getting a cab. Telling the cabbie the address, he sat back and watched the light change to darkness.

When the cab dropped him off, he paid the man, and walked up the short steps. He raised his fist, becoming slightly nervous. He knocked before his nerves failed him and waited a short while before the door was answered by a small old woman. She gave him a small smile.

"Is Sherlock Holmes here?" John asked, hoping he didn't look like a complete idiot.

"Oh! Of course dearie, he's right upstairs. Though he hasn't been taking cases lately, been acting weird since he got back from the last one." she babbled, letting him in.

He felt his heart plummet, knowing it was because of him that Sherlock was acting strange.

"I-I'm not here for a case, he's an-an old friend."

"Ooh hoo! A friend? Well, I hate to say this, but he doesn't really have those, does he? Well, apparently he has one, but the poor boy doesn't really do the social thing, does he? He's one of a kind." She said, leading him up the stairs. She knocked on the door and opened it. "Yoo hoo! Sherlock, you have a guest, and old friend, he says."

John stepped in scanning the flat and it was an utter mess. Newspapers lay every which way and, if he was not mistaken, there was a skull on the mantle. The man didn't seem to be in the immediate room, so the woman looked at him, gesturing to the kitchen.

"It's really the only other place he'll be. Probably doing an experiment, thankfully it hasn't been as loud as it usually is." she gave him one last smile before shutting the door as she made her exit.

John made his way into the kitchen, which was even more of a mess than the living room, and his breath caught. Sherlock was bent over an odd sort of something in a lab coat and goggles. His hair stuck every which way and was dressed in night clothes.

"Not now Mrs. Hudson." he said in that voice that made John's knees week, not even looking up.

"Is that her name?" John asked.

Sherlock's head snapped up so fast, John hoped it was still attached somehow. He stared at John for a few seconds before opening his mouth, "J-John!"

John gave a soft smile, taking a step closer. "I believe I owe you an apology."

"F-for what?"

"For treating you like that when you woke. I know I wasn't expecting a relationship, but it's obvious I left you confused and hurt."

Sherlock looked down at his gloved hands, his hair falling in front of his face. "You're different." was all he said.

John took a few more steps until he was standing in front of the man he was growing to become attached to, even if he'd just met him.

"How so?"

Sherlock gave a short laugh, "You're not too much of an idiot."

"Is that all?" John asked, moving his hand beneath Sherlock's chin, and pulling his head up to look him in the eyes. He noticed the unshed tears, and gave a small smile.

"You make me feel things, weird things that I've never felt before." he elaborated.

"What things?" but Sherlock only shook his head, keeping his mouth sealed. John sighed, "Sherlock, I have a question that you need to answer. I promise not to think any differently, but you need to answer." Sherlock slowly nodded, but looked nervous. "Were you a virgin? That night, was that your first time?"

Sherlock averted his eyes, his head still being held up by John's fingers. He gave a small nod.

John sighed, "I'm sorry." He moved to leave but Sherlock quickly grasped his hand.

"No! Please, don't leave! I'm not sorry, I actually enjoyed it."

John smiled moving back to stand in front of Sherlock, "But your first time should've been gentler, slower. It should've been with someone who didn't kick you out in the morning."

"I should've known! I just didn't understand the protocol, I don't really, um, really-"

"Socialize often?" John asked, and elaborated at Sherlock's questioning gaze, "Mrs. Hudson said you didn't have many friends."

"I don't have any." he said nonchalantly, but John easily picked out the underlying pain.

"Well, I'll be your friend, but I can't say I'd be the best. I'm leaving in two weeks, to Afghanistan, and friends don't usually sleep together."

"Yes, it leads to many bad things, you wouldn't believe the amount of murders that are caused by such a things as sex!" Sherlock exclaimed trying to show John he did know something about the topic.

John laughed, "I don't know if I've ever known someone so interested in the death of others. It works for you though."

Sherlock blushed, "I don't mind being your friend, even if we did sleep together and you're leaving. I like having you around." he said quietly.

"You like me more than a friend, though." John observed.

"How do you know?" Sherlock asked almost defiantly.

John gave him a warm smile, "I observed." Sherlock's blush deepened.

"I can get rid of it! Promise, but you're the only person, who doesn't - um who doesn't ignore me when I'm not on a case."

"It isn't something you can turn off."

"Would being with me in that way be a bad thing?" Sherlock asked, looking both dejected and curious at the same time. Did he honestly think it would be?

"No, of course it wouldn't! And I would say that I'd love to take you on a date some time, but I'm leaving in two weeks. This is already a new relationship, if we were to call it that, and most serious relationships can't last long distance. I'd be gone for two years!"

"But they have phones and internet with computers! And they allow breaks where you go back for short periods of time!"

"Yes, but it would be hard!"

"How? I trust you, you wouldn't cheat, and I obviously wouldn't as I don't like people. Well people besides you. And yes, I'd miss you, but I'm used to being alone. I could handle it, could you?" Sherlock asked.

"I believe if I really loved the person, I could. But we did just meet."

"Do you not want to try?" Sherlock asked, cocking his head to the side and looking at John, trying to read every bit of information he could.

John looked back. Did he want to try? This was new to him, but it was newer to Sherlock, and if the anti-social, heart guarded man was willing to try, why shouldn't he? After moments of silence, John grasped Sherlock's face and lowered his lips to the others. It was a soft kiss that conveyed affection and warmth instead of need and want.

Sherlock eagerly followed, and John couldn't help but smile at the inexperience that was now blatantly obvious. John pulled back, cupping Sherlock's cheeks and running his thumbs over the cheekbones. He brought their foreheads together and looked into the other man's blue eyes, smiling.

"There's something about you, Sherlock Holmes. Whether it be fate or destiny, I think we were meant to be with one another."

Sherlock, if possible, got redder, being flushed from their previous kiss, "I don't believe in fate or destiny."

"Well, whatever it is, I'm glad I met you."

"Me too." Sherlock whispered, bringing their lips together again, searching for a deeper kiss this time. John soon took charge and was once again pushing his tongue along the seam of Sherlock's lips. He quickly allowed John in and the two battled for dominance, which John easily won, but Sherlock was happy to let the other man take charge.

"Shall I show you what your fist time should've been like?" John asked after they pulled apart to breathe. Sherlock eagerly nodded, pulling his gloves, goggles, and apron off completely.

John stood back and allowed Sherlock to lead him to his bedroom. Neither noticed Sherlock's phone beep with his text alert.

**There we go! Hope everyone liked it, John and Sherlock back together. I'd like to thank everyone for the yadas, and, as always, more are appreciated. New chapter up on Wednesday, see everyone then!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer****: As alway, none of this is owned by me, well the story line is, but everything else is BBC's.**

**Chapter 3**

As the two weeks quickly went by John found himself spending more time at Sherlock's flat than he was at his assigned room at Bart's. He found himself more and more in love with the man he'd just recently met and it soon felt as if he had known Sherlock all his life, and he easily saw that the younger man felt the same. He noticed – and loved – how innocent Sherlock truly was when it came to their steadily growing relationship. He saw how extraordinary Sherlock was when it came to "deducing" people, as he put it, and thought it was utterly adorable how uncertain he was when it came to them.

Two days before he was going to be sent off to Afghanistan, it finally hit him how much being without Sherlock would hurt him. He woke up with the man wrapped in his arms and Sherlock's head on his chest right over his heart. He looked at the clock noting he had about thirty minutes before he needed to start getting ready for training. He watched Sherlock and gave a soft smile as he snuggled closer into John's chest, curling tighter into John's body. He realized then that he loved this person more than he's ever loved someone before. He'd once heard a German saying, "Leben lang Schatz des Schicksals." which translated to "Lifelong treasure of Destiny". It is said that it is the feeling you get when you're with The One and it cannot grow over time, it is a feeling you get instantaneously, and when he recalled, he remembered the strange feeling he got when he first met Sherlock, and how he couldn't stop thinking about him and even looked for him in London.

He knew that he loved Sherlock more than he's ever loved anyone or anything before. Even if they had only been dating for a week and a half, he dreaded not spending the rest of his life without this man. John sighed, debating whether or not to take the next step, no matter how soon it was.

Looking down at Sherlock, he began to card his hand through the dark, soft locks of hair. He held back a chuckle as the man before him actually purred and pressed closer to John's hand. John contemplated how Sherlock would react, were he to do as he wanted and take the next step, before he left. He knew Sherlock would never cheat or fall out of love with him (he hoped), not because Sherlock was quite anti-social, but because he knew that he was not that kind of person.

John stopped, once again looking at the clock, he needed to get up soon. He sighed, he knew Sherlock would be getting up with him – he was a surprisingly light sleeper – and he wished the man would allow himself to sleep in some at least once. He realized, after the first night they didn't make love that Sherlock didn't sleep. The sex tired him out and his body succumbed to sleep faster than most peoples, but when they didn't he had pent up energy and stayed up all night.

He remembered asking Sherlock why he'd stayed up and got the reply, "Sleep is boring and I don't need to sleep nightly like most people." So the next night John didn't have sex with Sherlock again and he still stayed up just curled into John. So John decided it would be best to wear him out every night (which is not something he was going to complain about).

John slowly began to untangle himself from Sherlock, who woke up with a small whine of displeasure before getting off. John smiled and kissed his nose then captured his lips.

"Good morning Love." John whispered. Sherlock smiled happily at the nickname that made his heart flutter every time it made it passed John's lips.

Sherlock sat on the bed, covered in the sheets, watching John dress. He hated mornings because John had to leave him and go to work. He'd gone to Bart's, in his usual little lab, but John worked in a different sector because Sherlock hadn't seen him once. He tried to distract himself with cases ever since the first night with John and in the morning he found his phone had blown up with multiple texts and missed calls. When he went in that morning he blatantly refused to tell Lestrade exactly why he hadn't answered his phone.

Sadly, no case he'd gotten took his mind fully from John, and though there hadn't been any interesting ones, he didn't think anything would ever take his mind off John completely. As he thought this, he thumbed his finger along his most recent cut, feeling the bumpy skin that was healed. He had done better with John. hadn't needed the release the razor brought with his mind filled with thoughts of him.

His phone beeped from the night stand and he leaned over to answer it, hoping for an interesting case that he could pass the time with today. Instead the message read:

_I see you've found someone to share your flat with. Don't be expecting John to come home early, he'll actually be a little late tonight. – MH_

Sherlock sighed, furiously texting his brother back to leave him and John alone, knowing it wouldn't do any good. His brother was so meddlesome and irksome, if Sherlock was a murderer, Mycroft would've been the first he'd kill.

"Come on Love, why don't you get dressed and we can go out to breakfast this morning." John said before heading to the bathroom.

Sherlock quickly hopped up and pulled on his usual suit and headed downstairs to grab his coat and scarf as well. By the time John was finished Sherlock was by the door ready to leave. John grabbed his hand and pulled him out the door and into the murky London atmosphere. Sherlock hailed their cab and asked John if he had any preferences.

"Well, since you know London best, what would you say has the greatest food?"

"I know someone who owns this diner and will give us free food!" Sherlock said excitedly.

After having him tell the cabbie where to go, John asked, "So why does this person give you free food?"

"I got him out of a double homicide charge. He was very grateful and told me to come to his restaurant any time I'd like for free."

John pulled Sherlock closer, "Well, how amazing are you? Best detective in the world!" Sherlock blushed and hid his face in John's shoulder, but he caught the large smile on Sherlock's face. He couldn't hide a smile of his own, but had to wonder how many compliment the man got if he acted this way every time John gave him one. He concluded not much.

The cab stopped in front of a small diner that was surrounded by other little souvenir shops. John got out and paid the cabbie, before grabbing Sherlock's hand and pulling him inside. John led them to the table closest to the windows and looked out as it started to rain. He looked across the street and saw a small jewelry shop causing his mind to quickly return to his previous musings.

When the waiter came John ordered his food and spent the next five minutes making Sherlock order something. Finally he got the same as John and the waiter left with a relieved look on his face. Sherlock proceeded to pout unhappily but John only laughed, leaning in and kissing those wonderfully soft lips. Neither noticed the woman who'd stopped outside and was blatantly staring at them.

Sally Donovan was walking to grab a coffee before heading into the office and walked into the small shopping area. She headed to the coffee house and quickly ordered, wanting to get out of the rain that was predicted to pour down at any moment. Getting the drink, she quickly paid and headed in the direction of work. She looked through all the windows and saw her least favorite person sitting at the small diner that some officers recommended. She noticed Sherlock Holmes (rather known as the Freak) sitting with an actual person, but she wasn't surprised to see the two arguing.

As she got closer they stopped and she saw the pout on the Freaks lips and smiled to herself that somebody served him his medicine. The smile soon left her face as the man she couldn't really see, as his back was to her, lean over and kissed the Freak. She nearly dropped her coffee and almost stopped to see who the mysterious stranger was, but she figured that the Freak might see her and she really didn't want him to know they'd been anywhere near each other. As the rain fell harder, Sally quickly made her way away from the Freak and his whatever, and to work.

John leaned back, satisfied with the red blush that had taken over Sherlock's face from the very public display of affection. Their food came and John made Sherlock eat most of it and left a tip when they headed out.

"Do you have anything to miraculously solve today?" John asked.

Sherlock sighed, "No."

"So you'll be heading home then?"

"Yes, why the sudden curiosity?"

John smiled, leaning up to kiss him, "No reason, you should grab a cab home, I think I'll walk."

"In this weather? Without an umbrella?"

"Sherlock, I'm a grown man and I will be fine. A little rain never hurt anybody." Sherlock opened his mouth to reply but John quickly retracted his statement, "Okay, okay! I don't need to know of any ways rain could kill me, I'll be fine, Love, promise."

Sherlock continued to eye him, but John called a cab over – he was finally getting the hang of getting cabs – and opened the door for Sherlock. Sherlock slowly slid into the cab and John gave him a kiss and handed him some cash knowing Sherlock didn't have much - or any - on him. John watched the cab turn the corner before making his way into the small jewelry shop.

He entered and was relieved to find he was the only one inside besides the jeweler. He made his way towards the ring cases and began looking at different ones. He saw a wide variety, but not many suited Sherlock.

"What is it you're looking for?" the small woman behind the counter asked.

"I was thinking of something for my boyfriend."

"Oh" the woman said with a smile playing on her lips. "Well I think I can help you, what's he like?" So John quickly began to describe the man he was in love with, and was happy to realize he knew quite a bit with only their brief time with each other. After a few minutes in the back, she brought back a slim, golden ring.

"It's perfect." John said. It was simple and meaningful, just what he wanted. "Um, can I get one more as well? For me." He clarified.

She smiled and handed him the two rings and rung them up. She waved him away with a good day and a smile heading him off for a long, Sherlock free day.

His training went by as slow as usual and was both thankful and relieved when he was finally able to head back home. He spent a second contemplating that 221B had felt more like home in a shorter amount of time than his actual home before heading out to the street. As he passed the reception area, a phone began to ring, but when the receptionist went to answer, the ringing quickly stopped. The same happened with the phones place around the hospital. When he exited a black car quickly pulled up and the door opened to reveal a small woman.

She stepped out, handing him a phone and getting back in, leaving the door open. He awkwardly put to his ear, thinking that someone got the wrong person.

"Erm, hello?" he asked.

"Mr. Watson."

"Who is this?"

"Look at the camera on the building behind you." When he looked, the camera spontaneously moved away. The man the proceeded to do that with three more government controlled cameras.

"How-"

"Get in the car, Mr. Watson." And he hung up. John sighed and did as the person told him to. The car ride was quiet after a few failed attempts at a conversation and they arrived at a strange building that seemed to be abandoned and in the middle of nowhere. John began to berate himself for getting into the car and got out. He walked into the middle of the building and approached a man.

"What are your relations with Sherlock Holmes?" he shot off before John could even open his mouth.

"Excuse me?"

"You've met recently and have moved in, kissed, and bought rings. So I ask again, what are your relations?"

"I think that's none of your business, is it?"

"It might be."

"No, this is between me and Sherlock, it has nothing to do with you, Mycroft?"

"You know-"

"Yes, Sherlock's told me about you. Can we be done? I have to get back."

"What are your intentions?"

"Why do you care?"

"I'm worried about him."

"Well you don't need to be, I won't hurt him. I intend to be with him for as long as he'll have me. Now I can go, right?" John asked, not really liking the older Holmes. He figured Sherlock exaggerated on how annoying his brother really was, but for God's sake! The man had just kidnapped him. Mycroft nodded and John made his way back to the awaiting car.

"Where too?" the woman asked.

"221B Baker Street." And he prepared himself for another long, quiet car ride.

When they finally arrived, John quickly hopped out, and ran up the stairs. He found Sherlock curled up on the couch, staring at the wall.

"Hey Love." John said, bending down to kneel next to Sherlock. Sherlock quickly turned around to stare at John. John smiled and kissed Sherlock before getting up. "Should we order some take-out?"

"But I just ate this morning." Sherlock whined.

"Yes, well the human body needs a lot of food to sustain itself properly no matter how big of a brain it carries." Sherlock pouted and John grabbed the Chinese menu and the phone, making his way back into the living room.

John began the order and was interrupted when he heard Sherlock say, "Can we get Orange Chicken please, and chop sticks?" John gave a small chuckle and finished their order.

Hanging up the phone, he began to finger the rings in his pocket. Sherlock noticed and asked what was wrong and what was in his pocket. John smiled and went to kneel back in front of the couch. John moved his hand to Sherlock's head and began to rub his fingers through the other man's hair before moving his hand to Sherlock's cheek, using his thumb to caress his cheek bone.

"What would you say if I asked you to marry me before I left in two days?"

Sherlock's eyes widened and he quickly sat up to look down at John. "I-I don't know. I thought you weren't ready for a commitment or a long term relationship, much less a marriage."

"Well, over the past few weeks I've realized that I really do want to spend my life with you, no matter what."

"And you want to marry me?" Sherlock asked, tears forming in his eyes. "Me? Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Then I would say yes."

"Well, will you marry me then?" John asked, pulling out the gold ring. Sherlock pulled John up into a wet, sloppy kiss. John smiled and worked the ringer onto Sherlock's finger without breaking their kiss. John pulled away and rested his forehead against Sherlock's. "We can go to the court house tomorrow and have a one day honey moon since I get these two days off before I leave. When I get back we can have a real church wedding, that's your choice, but you don't get a choice on whether or not to have a real honeymoon. That one we're having."

Sherlock just smiled, bringing John in for another kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

__**Disclaimer****: As alway, none of this is owned by me, well the story line is, but everything else is BBC's.**

** Sorry to everyone that this is late, I had no internet access yesterday when I was supposedto upload, so I didn't get a chance to do it. Thankfully, it's back up now and I am posting a dayish late. Sorry for any grammer and spelling mistakes and I hope everyone enjoys. Yadas are apreciated!**

_**Chapter 4**_

John set up an appointment with the court for tomorrow morning that night. He sat on the couch and waited for the Chinese to come, smiling as Sherlock re-entered with two glasses and made himself comfortable on John's lap. He leaned back against the broader man's chest and handed him a glass.

John laughed, "Is this milk?"

"Well it's not like we had anything else!" Sherlock defended.

"Usually people drink Champaign, I mean, these are champagne glasses." Sherlock gave him an annoyed look. John just laughed and took a sip before replying, "Don't worry Love, I thinks it's a very sweet gesture." Only a few minutes later their takeout arrived, John heaving Sherlock off him, Sherlock giving a very unmanly squeak.

John quickly cleared the table, setting two candles he'd borrowed from Mrs. Hudson in the middle and lighting them. He took out two plate and the chopsticks, serving them both and grabbing more milk to put in the Champaign glasses. He called Sherlock in and held out his chair. Sherlock gave him a large, happy smile before sitting down and politely waiting for John to do the same.

John refilled the glasses, handing one to Sherlock before raising his own, "To us. I know this is very fast, but you are my everything Sherlock. I knew you were special from the moment I met you and I am eternally grateful that I came here and found you."

Sherlock smiled, eyes watering again as he wasn't used to the affection John was showing him and every time he said something nice, it made Sherlock want to cry with pure joy. Sentiment, he was finding he didn't mind it much, at least not with John.

"I'm glad you found me too." He whispered.

John leaned forward catching Sherlock's lips in his own for a few seconds before pulling away and saying, "I love you."

Sherlock's grin, if possible, widened even more, "I love you too."

The two clinked their glasses of milk and began their takeout Chinese. No, it wasn't extravagant or "proper", but it was perfect. It was them, and they savored every second before John led Sherlock upstairs to celebrate some more.

The next morning the couple woke early to get to their appointment. John pulled on his only suit and Sherlock pulled on one of his many and the two caught a cab. They entered the building and found their way to the office that would perform their marriage. It was simple, four people total, the priest, the witness, and Sherlock and John. It took about an hour to do the ceremony and fill out the paper work before the two could go home for their two day honeymoon.

When John woke up the next day he pulled Sherlock closer to him, kiss his forehead, eyes, cheeks, nose, and chine until Sherlock woke up enough to get John to kiss him where he wanted.

Breaking apart, John whispered, "Good morning Mr. Watson."

Sherlock smiled, he insisted that he would take John's name as they filled out the papers saying he'd still be Holmes to his work, but legally, he was now Sherlock Watson.

"Good morning."

"Sleep well Love?"

"Always. How could I not if you're here?"

"What shall we do today?"

Sherlock pretended to think for a moment before replying, "Not get dressed."

So they spent all day curled up together making love and talking, whispering sweet words into the others ear. As night fell, though, so did silence. John had to leave at six in the morning to catch his flight to the army base in Afghanistan. He'd kept putting off packing, he didn't need to leave the flat as he brought all his belongings there with him, because that would just be too final. But he had to do it.

Sherlock sat on the bed as John walked around their room and gathered some items he figured he'd need. Sherlock didn't like that John was going and had to keep telling himself that he'd known about it long before he got himself into this.

"How often will I get to talk to you?" Sherlock asked, his voice slightly higher than usual.

"I think people get to make calls once or twice a week and can Skype once a month." John said, "We aren't allowed to have our own computers or phones so it's limited."

"And how often do you get leaves?"

"Probably every eight or nine months. I think it just depends what vacation time I'm given."

"So we don't really know when we'll see each other again?"

John looked up at Sherlock who had been scooting steadily closer to the edge of the bed, and gave him a sad smile, "No, not really."

"I miss you already. Why? It's illogical for me to miss you when you're still here, explain it to me John. I don't understand and I don't like not understanding." Sherlock said, his voice slightly panicky.

"Oh Love." John said, putting his stuff down and walking over to sit at the edge of the bed. He pulled Sherlock onto his lap and wrapped his arms around the extremely thin waist. Sherlock pushed his head into John's neck, fisting his jumper. "You're sad, that's all. Neither of expected this, us, when I made this decision, and even though it has made leaving a lot harder, I don't regret being with you. Yes, these feelings are illogical, but that is just what love is, and I wouldn't change it for the world."

Sherlock snuggled closer into John for a few more minutes before getting off and sitting back against the head board. John smiled and began to once again pack his things. When he finished he ordered dinner and did his best to get Sherlock dressed, which (not that he would tell Sherlock) made him immensely happy when he lost that argument. When Sherlock finally came down he wore a thin sheet over his lithe frame, hiding himself from prying eyes.

The doorbell soon rang and John answered as Sherlock sat on the floor on a blanket in the living room set up as a makeshift picnic. John grabbed their food, noting the way the girl's eyes hungrily ran over Sherlock's hidden body. John cleared his throat, paying the girl and quickly shutting the door on her face. Sighing when he found a phone number on the receipt, he sat down and handed it to Sherlock.

"What's this for?" he asked, grabbing it and looking at the number. "Female, slightly shaky writing. The delivery girl wrote her phone number on her when she was carrying the pizza. Why?"

John rolled his eyes opening the box and grabbing a slice, "I think she likes you, probably thought you were cute and single." He ended with a slightly bitter note.

"But I'm not, are you … angry?" Sherlock asked trying to deduce the look on his husbands face.

"No, now eat."

"You seem angry." Sherlock said, refusing to drop the subject as he grabbed a small slice of his own.

"Not angry."

"Um, wait." Sherlock said, lowering his pizza and eyeing John, "Are you jealous?" A mix of curiosity and slight triumph could be heard in his voice.

"I don't like people, other people, looking at you, especially when you're in a sheet for God's sake!"

Sherlock took another bite of his pizza, smiling at John, "I got it right!" was all he said before taking another bite. By the time they'd finished, John successfully getting Sherlock to eat three more slices of pizza, it had been another hour. John noticing how quiet Sherlock was getting the closer it came for his time to leave decided to fix the silence.

He cleared the blanket of all food and Sherlock of his sheet as well as his own clothes. John finished their perfect night with one last bout of sex and watched Sherlock fall asleep in his arms. Sherlock had fought to stay awake, wanting to spend the last few hours of their time together conscious, but his body betrayed him sending him off into the dark.

John didn't sleep, he wasn't tired as his body was more used to that particular work out. He lay there and watched Sherlock's slow breathing, counting each breath. He felt the other man's breath tickling his ear as he lay on top of John, not that John minded, he was too skinny and light.

John squinted as the light slowly broke through the open curtains, streaming right on top of the couple. It was slightly orange as the sun began to rise, catching against Sherlock and giving his dark hair a halo. John leaned down and kissed the top of his head, slowly running his hands up his back and combing his fingers into his hair.

Sherlock groaned, turning his head before looking up and resting his chin on John's muscular chest. John moved his hand down, running his thumb slowly across one of Sherlock's jutting cheekbones. They lay there in silence just enjoying each other before they had to leave. The sun was fully risen as John lifted Sherlock of him, the younger groaning as John slipped out of him.

They quietly got dressed, leaving the flat, and hailing a cab. The cab ride was silent as well, but Sherlock was pressed up against John as if afraid the man would die if Sherlock weren't _right there_. Every once in a while John would feel Sherlock tremor slightly before it stopped almost as soon as it started.

The driver slowly pulled into the overcrowded airport and dropped the couple off. Sherlock paid the cabbie and followed John quietly into the building. They pushed passed people heading to the clerks desk to check in John's bags. She smiled and put them on the belt after weighing them and checking John's ticket.

They slowly made their way to security, Sherlock trying his best to slow them down. John pulled his backpack higher and got into the end of the line. Sherlock quietly got in behind him knowing he couldn't follow past this point.

"John…" he whispered, voice breaking slightly.

John pulled Sherlock tight against his chest, the man burying his head in John's neck and wrapping his arms around his neck as well. They stayed there for a few moments, John rocking them back and forth, trying to find comfort in one another.

"I'll be back before you know it, promise." John whispered, the trembling in Sherlock was constant now.

"Just come back and be careful. I can't live without you anymore!" Sherlock said, tears streaming down his pale face.

"I will, I'm just a doctor so I won't be in much danger. Now promise me you'll eat and sleep and not get yourself killed on cases and no smoking or drugs. Do those things, promise me, and I promise to come back." Even John knew he couldn't promise that. He was going to a war zone and anything was possible, but it comforted them both to hear it.

Sherlock nodded, whispering "I promise." Before pulling John into a deep desperate kiss.

They pulled apart and John wiped the tears trailing down Sherlock's face, holding his chin beneath both his hands resting his foreheads against Sherlock's.

"I love you."

"And I love you." Sherlock whispered.

John slowly pulled away walking up to the first security officer and handing him his ticket and I.D. Sherlock watched from behind the ropes as John pulled off his shoes and metal object. He watched as he went through the weird scanner. He watched as John pulled on his items and pulled out his pack. He watched John leave the area slowly. Watched as he turned to give him one last smile. Watched as John Watson walked out of his life so soon after he walked in.


	5. Chapter 5

__**Disclaimer****: As alway, none of this is owned by me, well the story line is, but everything else is BBC's.**

**Okay, here's another chapter, and warning, for anyone who actually reads the author's notes, there are cutting scenes in this chapter, so don't say I didn't warn you! Hope everyone enjoys!**

_**Chapter 5**_

_One Year Later _

"So what information can you give us?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock knelt down over the newest body, thankful for the most recent distraction. John had been gone for almost a year now and had only visited once. It was two short weeks where Sherlock refused any and all cases and he and John didn't leave the flat once. When John left once again Sherlock felt even more broken, but held it together allowing his doctor to grow and become who he went there to be.

But that didn't stop Sherlock from worrying. He'd tried to do as John asked, sleeping and eating more, but he did it less than he used to now. His ribs were showing slightly, though not too much, and dark circles were beginning to form under his eyes from multiple restless nights. And when he did sleep he was plagued with nightmares of John dying and he wouldn't sleep or eat until John's next call.

He didn't much understand why he was worrying, but figured it might have to do with the fact that he'd never had anyone. John was the first one to love and care for him and not just because he had to, and in return Sherlock had fall irreversibly and irrevocably in love with him. The only time he got the slightest peace was when he had a new crime to solve and even then his thoughts continued to drift without permission to his soldier.

"Well she's in her early fifties, late forties, happily married with a child going into college. She probably has an office job and lives about forty minutes away from here."

"Okay, now here is where I'll eat my words. How do you know that?"

Sherlock sighed but it had no venom in it, "Well her age, you can guess that one. Her ring is regularly cleaned and doesn't come off much. She has multiple college pamphlets in her purse, and she already has a job, so child, multiple meaning she's looking. And going by the colleges she wants her child to look at I would say he or she is going into the astronomical major. That's what most of these colleges specialize in. Her nails are nice and she's wearing high heels and there are no deformities on the feet. Conclusion, she doesn't work with her hands or walk around a lot, desk job. And she lives forty minutes away because twenty minutes ago she sent a text to her husband saying 'Be home in forty'."

"Okay, well what about the killer?"

"He's done this before, you can tell because the cuts are to clean, yet not precise enough to be someone who has medical experience…" he drifted off, his mind going to John.

"Oye, Sherlock!" Lestrade snapped.

His head snapped up, "What? Oh sorry. Yes, well, he's done this exact murder before, so a serial killer, maybe. Look through old files and find the ones that match this the most and get them to me. Go to her house and interview her spouse and children. Oh, and you're looking for a butchers' knife."

"How-"

"The crack in her ribcage proves the measurements and force of the knife. The killer is a shorter and statistically male, he stabbed up, were he taller he would've stabbed down and the force it took to break the bone is of a stronger person than most females. We could get better motive once you've found the past file and spoke with her family. Please be quick and sufficient Lestrade, I'd rather you not waste my time." Sherlock snapped, yet once again his voice held no venom or its usual bite.

Lestrade was not a blind man and had been picking up on Sherlock's strange moods lately.

Slightly worried Lestrade built up the courage to finally ask, "Sherlock are you okay? Lately you've been a little…"

"A little what?" Sherlock snapped.

"Distant."

"Well, it's not really your business, is it, Lestrade?" Sherlock said. This was not happening. His work was where worried thoughts of John went away, he didn't want Lestrade messing that up.

"Well, well, well, long time to see Freak." Sally said, walking into the room with her arms crossed. She hadn't seen Sherlock since he was with that man, almost a year.

Sherlock's gut clenched at those words. Yes he pretended they didn't hurt, but when they were said he felt as if he was ripped in two. The memories that came with those words were dark and bitter and made him want to back to the time when he could get rid of it, but he had John now, and though he didn't know about that part in Sherlock's life he knew John would be disappointed if he started up again. Those words were not enough to make him go back now that he had John. It still hurt, though, still tore through his soul.

Not that Sally could see any of this on his face. He looked back blankly before retorting, "You really should stop seeing Anderson while his wife's away." Sherlock stated. He felt rage boil inside him at the thought of a married man who pledged his love to one person being with someone else. He couldn't help but think of John and how he would feel if he found out he was having an affair – not that John would, or even could. "If you don't stop I might just tell." But he would want to know.

Anger flashed across Sally's face before she stepped outside and walking back towards the tape. He left the room as well, following her and passing as he neared the tape.

"Where's your boyfriend, Freak?" she asked.

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks, not believing his ears. Turning on his heel to slowly face Sally he asked, "Excuse me?"

"Your boyfriend, the one I saw you kissing about a year ago at a diner."

She'd seen him and John? How had he not noticed her?

"That's none of your business." He said, turning to leave again.

"Oh, so he left you? Didn't want to put up with you freakishness? We can now add fag to the list of thing wrong with Sherlock now."

"No, he didn't leave. He's in Afghanistan." Sherlock said, trying to take a breath. These words were hitting home, deeper than he'd ever felt them go before.

"Aw, is that what you're telling yourself? That he's gone to Afghanistan. Face it, no one would want you. Not now, not ever." She finished just as Lestrade walked out. Taking one look at Sherlock's face and he knew something was wrong.

"I'm telling his wife." Sherlock choked out, trying to keep his composure best as possible until he could get out. Turning on his heel he almost ran from the scene.

"What did you say to him?" Lestrade asked, not really being able to place the look Sherlock wore, but knowing enough to know something went down.

She sighed, "Nothing but the truth."

Sherlock raced back to the flat, throwing open the door and going straight to his room. Frantically searching for the one thing he needed most. Finally he pulled out a shoebox from underneath his bed and sat it on his lap. Tears soaked his face and he made no effort to wipe them away. He opened the box and looked in, relieved to find everything was still there.

Getting up and walking out into the kitchen, he set on the kettle and went into the living room, the tears still coming. Sitting on the couch he reached his hand in and pulled out a small, shiny object. He twisted it in his hands, seeing his puffy eyes and shining cheeks with every malevolent turn.

Lifting up his sleeve, he brought the razor down slowly to his pale, porcelain skin. Scars littered his fore arms and he knew a few littered his chest. They weren't noticeable unless someone were to point them out, so John hadn't seen them. Well, he'd seen, but he hadn't observed. Sherlock knew most of the time John had seen him without his shirt, they'd lain in the dark, so it had been even harder, almost impossible, to see then.

He then began to do something he hadn't done since he met John. He began to cut. Lines weren't enough, though. So he connected them, forming one word. He stared down when he finished and watched the blood steadily coat his arm and dropping to the floor and couch. He felt his vision waver and became a little light-headed, but everything became clear again and he just stared, the razor slipping from his hand and falling to the floor.

His head snapped up when his computer beeped and the screen came on with an upcoming call. Sherlock read the name after stumbling over and his eyes widened. He hurriedly pulled down his shirt sleeve and used the other hand to wipe his face and try to look as normal as possible before he answered.

John's smiling face came up instantly on the screen. Sherlock could see the opening to the small tent John occupied and a person in uniform walk by every once in a while.

"Hey Love!" John said taking in Sherlock's face. Sherlock tried to be normal, smiling back as naturally as possible. Everything was better now, the pain was gone and John was here. Except another wave of dizziness washed over him. John's smile quickly faded, "What's wrong Sherlock. What's happened?"

"Nothing John. I just, I just messed up an experiment and had a slight allergic reaction to it." Sherlock said smoothly.

"Don't lie to me Sherlock, I know when you do and you just did. What happened?" John demanded.

"How do you know I lied? How could you tell?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

"I just can, now what happened? Tell me."

"Nothing, I'm fine."

"Sherlock."

"Nothing."

"Sherlock!" John said angrily.

"Nothing!" Sherlock yelled throwing up his arms in frustration.

John's breath caught in his throat. He really hoped that wasn't what he thought it was, but the red in Sherlock's sleeve kept growing.

"Is that … blood?"

Sherlock looked at John then to his arm, realizing his mistake as he slowly put it down.

"I told you, and experiment messed up and it gave me a cut and an allergic reaction." Sherlock said quietly, looking down at his lap.

"Dammit Sherlock! Stop lying to me!" John said growing worried. He heard Sherlock sniffle and watched him wipe his cheek. "Love, please talk to me. Show me your cut."

"You'll hate me." Sherlock said in a much smaller, much more broken voice John had ever heard from him before.

"I could never hate you Sherlock. Ever, there is not one thing in this world that would drive me away. You could piss me off and throw me in Hell, but I'd always come back. I love you, I love you, I love you. Now please Sherlock, what happened?"

He watched as Sherlock sat there for a few moments before finally moving. He saw him do something to his sleeve and waited as Sherlock rubbed his arm, face contorting with slight pain. John's stomach churned when he saw that the sleeve Sherlock had been wiping his arm off with was soaked in blood.

Sherlock slowly lifted his arm to the screen and John almost stopped breathing all together, his heart skipping a few beat. On his husbands arm, glistening with his blood was the word _FREAK_.

"Sherlock-" he choked trying to hold back tears of his own. "Oh, God! Oh, Love, why, why would you do that? Why did you do that to yourself?"

More tears fell from Sherlock's eyes, unable to hold them back anymore, he broke down sobbing, "I-I am a f-freak J-ohn! Sally D-Donovan te-lls me all-ll the ti-ime! She told me-e tha-at no o-one w-would ever-er lo-love me! She-e's ri-right John, h-how can you-ou l-love me?"

"How could you ever think that?! She is absolutely wrong, and I do love you! You aren't a freak, Love, how could you be when you are the most human of every single person I've ever met! Sherlock, oh God, how could you do something like that? Is this the first time?"

Sherlock sat wiping his tears and staring at his lap trying his best to calm down. Another wave of dizziness spread over him as well as nausea.

"I-I'm sorry, I haven-n't done it s-since I me-et you. It get b-better whe-n I was w-with you." Sherlock said through small hiccups.

"Sherlock, please look at me Love. Why tonight? Why break tonight?"

Looking into John's eyes Sherlock told him a scene by scene monologue of their argument and the names and what she'd said about John. When he finished, his eyes were filled with tears again and he desperately asked, "You are coming back John, right?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I'm too much, I'm a-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence Sherlock. We are married, for one, and for two, I would never leave you! Especially in such a cruel way. I love you."

"Even with this?" Sherlock asked, raising his sleeves even more. John stared at all the tiney scares he hadn't noticed before. He felt sadness in his heart knowing that this beautiful, wonderful man had to go through such terrible things in his life. That he chose to go for the better and not sink into darkness.

"Especially with that. It proves your strength for stopping and trying to find other ways to cope. Just like you being able to stop your drug addiction and all the other battles you won. This is more proof that you are a far better man than any I've ever met. Promise me Sherlock, please, Love, promise me you won't do it again. No matter what she says, just know that I believe in you and I love you. Always believe that."

Sherlock nodded, knowing their time was almost up. He heard the kettle boil and he got up only to stumble and fall, the dizziness not going away this time.

"Sherlock!" John called.

"I'm-I'm f'n" he mumbled, trying to pull himself up, the kettle becoming increasingly loud.

"Sherlock, you need to call someone, please! You've lost a lot of blood, Sherlock."

"D'n't h'v anyo'n to c'll"

"What about your brother, please Love." John said slightly panicked.

"No."

"Lestrade, call him, please call him."

"He'll see me like th's"

"I don't care, please, for the love of God, call him!"

Sherlock pulled out his phone, his vision slightly blurred, clicking Lestrade's contact. He sent off a text,

_221B, come now._

"C'lled h'm" Sherlock murmured.

"Okay, okay, he's on his way?"

"Deft'ntly"

"God Sherlock! Don't you ever do this again, and you better call me as soon as you're better!" John said, panic still lacing his voice. All he wanted was to be there next to Sherlock, to help him and not only was he in a damned screen, the call was ending.

"I love you Sherlock, you have to be okay for me."

"Love you too." Sherlock mumbled, "Be okay, pr'mise"

Then the screen went blank and John sat there stunned. He needed to call Sherlock tomorrow, check on him. A few of his mates asked what was wrong as he passed them, but he needed to get to the general, ask if he could have a brief call tomorrow and explain the situation.

Sherlock lay on the floor, his vision continuing to get blacker. He heard talking downstairs and heard footsteps climbing the staircase. He heard a gasp from far away then faster footsteps.

Lestrade had been angry at first when Sherlock texted him, thinking maybe he wouldn't go. He had been doing as Sherlock asked and looking for the husband and children and was on his way when the text came. He sighed, Sherlock was just around the corner and maybe he had something on the case. He turned the car, ignoring Sally's insinuations, and headed towards Baker Street.

He quickly made his way to the flat, having Sally stay in the car, and opened the door. What he found was possibly the most horrid thing in his life. Sherlock lay on the floor, blood covering his arm, the word _freak_ horridly noticeable. At first he thought that someone had broken in and tortured Sherlock, but he found the box of razors, putting two and two together.

"Sherlock…" he gasped, running over and pulling out his phone.

The man seemed to turn slightly and gave him a smile. "Be okay." He said, glad he kept his promise to John.

Lestrade bandaged the arm quickly, putting pressure on the wound.

Sherlock blinked and frowned, "Hurts." He said as a dull ache registered in his brain. He wished John was here. He heard more footsteps coming up the stair, more than one person now. He felt Lestrade being pulled off him and being lifted onto something, and everything went dark.

Sherlock woke in a strange place, squinting his eyes and raising his hands trying to block out the too bright lights. Blinking a few more times, everything fell into focus. Hospital, he was in a hospital. His groggy mind took a few confused minutes for everything to fall into place. Looking over, he noted it was still night, probably midnight judging by the moon.

He sighed and sat up, his skin tugging at his arm. He looked down noting the wrapping and knew the pull was from stitches. Looking around, he slowly got up and searched for his clothes. He found some new ones on a chair and grabbed them. Pulling out all his I.V.'s and wires, he made his way to the bathroom to change. Blood loss, he concluded as he once again yawned, walking out to find a small woman holding a cup and a cookie.

"Here, for-"

"I know what it's for." Sherlock snapped just wanting to go home. He grabbed the cup and cookie, drinking and eating both within seconds and heading for the door.

"You can't leave! You aren't ready!" she cried as he slammed the door.

He made his way easily to the streets, still disoriented, and hailed a cab. He was thankful that whoever brought his clothes had thought to put his wallet in there. He paid the cabbie, and quietly headed upstairs. As soon as he reached the flat, he fell in, going straight to the couch and falling asleep.

A strange beeping woke him around noon the next day, and he rubbed his eyes, yawning as he made his way towards the computer. Sitting down, he clicked answer and was surprised to see John's face.

"Oh, thank God Sherlock, how are you? I was worried sick! For a second I thought you might die!"

"M' sorry." He yawned, rubbing his eyes again.

John sighed, a small, relieved smile playing on his lips, "Did I wake you Love?"

Sherlock gave a small nod, blearily looking at John, "Thought you couldn't call until next week."

"I talked to my general and explained the situation. I have to go soon, but I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"M' fine." He said, stifling another yawn.

"Go back to sleep Love. I'll see you next week." John said softly.

"Love you." Sherlock murmured with a sleepy smile.

"And I love you." John said before hanging up, Sherlock quickly turning around and falling back on the couch to sleep.

That's how Lestrade found him after hearing he left the hospital. The man silently laid a blanket on the prone form and left thinking that Sherlock Holmes was definitely not a sociopath.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer****: As alway, none of this is owned by me, well the story line is, but everything else is BBC's.**

**Final Chapter! Man, both sad and happy. Hope everyone enjoyed the story and I will keep updating on Saturdays and Wednesdays for my Sherlock stories. Enjoy, and yadas are appreciated!**

_**Chapter 6**_

_One and a half years later_

John wanted to get out after two years – especially knowing about Sherlock's self-harm – but Sherlock had convinced him otherwise. He figured that if it weren't for himself, then John would continue to learn and gain more knowledge. He'd told John that he didn't want to be the one that caused the army to lose the best doctor it had ever had. John laughed, but in the end he signed on to serve another two years after hearing Sherlock's multiple promises to not do anything in any way to cause his body or mind harm.

Sherlock was at a new crime scene when he'd gotten the call. Seeing who it was, he instantly put all his attention into the conversation.

"Mr. Watson?" the man on the other line asked.

"Y-yes?" Sherlock asked, fear evident in his voice. The team stopped what they were doing in order to look the man's way, wondering what exactly he was talking about.

"I'm afraid to inform you that your husband has been shot."

"What?!" Sherlock gasped, dozens of scenarios playing through his mind. He turned to leave not bothering to hide his tears as he passed the others.

"He is going into surgery at the moment, the bullet went into his shoulder and they are working to dislodge it immediately."

"O-okay, will he be alright?"

"We think so, we'll be discharging him as soon as we know."

"Thank you." Sherlock said hanging up. That was the last he'd heard of John. Two weeks went by and not a word. He'd called multiple times, but only got cold secretaries and annoyed bosses telling him that he wasn't fooling anybody, and he didn't exist. Sherlock couldn't eat, or sleep, and was refusing any and all cases. The Yarders didn't know what to make of his behavior.

John sighed as he got off the plane, scanning the crowd for Sherlock, furrowing his brow when he didn't see him. The army had told him he was coming back today, didn't they? He limped towards the seats, once again scanning the crowd. This time his eyes caught three familiar faces, none which included Sherlock's.

"Mum, dad, Harry. What are you doing here?" John asked surprised, limping up to them but continuing to scan the crowd for his husband.

"Well, they called us to tell us what happened and then later called us to tell us where to pick you up." his mother said.

"But you aren't my emergency contacts, why did they tell _you_ where to pick me up?"

"Well," began his father, "some man claimed to be your husband on the contacts and we know, for one, you aren't gay, and two, you aren't married. I'm pretty sure we would've been invited to our own son's wedding!"

"What did you tell them?" John growled.

"We told them the truth. That this man had some obvious evil motive, or something, and was pretending to be your husband." Harry said, her legs shaking as she looked around the crowded airport.

"I signed off on that! They had to show it to me before it was put into the files!" John exclaimed.

His mother, wrongly thinking he was upset over the military's security, consoled him, "Well, I'm sure he hacked in without their knowledge. Most criminals know how to do sneaky stuff like that."

John sighed, rubbing his temples now knowing why he couldn't find Sherlock. His head snapped up when he realized that Sherlock had gotten the first call, but didn't get any of the rest due to his family's interference. Oh God, he must be so worried. John could just picture him pacing through their flat, pulling his hair out with worry. Knowing Sherlock, he'd probably called multiple times but he most likely didn't get anywhere.

"Look, you guys, I'm going to go. Thanks for meeting me." John replied, beginning to walk off.

"Wait! We haven't seen you in over two years John!" his mother cried, reaching out to stop him. "Why didn't you visit us? They gave you leaves in the army, didn't they? Where were you?"

John yanked his arm away and glared at his family, "I was with my husband!" he spat, "A man who is now probably dying with worry because the only news he's received of me was that I was shot. I'm going home!"

"Don't you yell at your mother like that!" his dad exclaimed, walking after him.

"Well, why not? You people apparently took it upon yourselves to decide that my husband wasn't real and now he's the only thing I care about because I don't know what I'll find when I get home!"

"Home is where we are!" Harry said.

"Home is where my husband is!"

"How could you not tell us you were married?! When was it and why haven't we got to meet … _him_" his dad said, almost spitting out the word him.

"We weren't expecting it and it was too late for a big wedding, it was two days before I first left for the army, and I know your prejudice against gay men. I know you're okay with Harry because she's a woman or something, but I knew you would criticize me and I won't subject him to that!" he said, finally out the doors and walking straight to the curb.

"We aren't done talking! It's not like you have anywhere to go, the cabs never seem to want to pull over!" his dad yelled from behind him.

John held up his hand exactly as Sherlock did and was relieved when a cab pulled up immediately.

Opening the door, he turned one last time to his family, "Welcome to London. Hope I don't see you soon!" He gave them a sarcastic wave and told the driver where to go.

When he arrived at 221B it was dark and the streetlights lit the pavement like a serene sunset, casting everything in orange. He paid the driver and limped up the steps pulling out his key and entering the small building. He took a deep breath in, smiling at the scent he dearly missed. Slowly walking up the steps he felt the familiar wood beneath his calloused palm.

He reached the door and quietly unlocked it, peaking inside. He sighed when he heard no noise and knew Sherlock was out. Shutting it once again, he made his way downstairs and walked up to Mrs. Hudson's flat. After knocking a few times, she opened the door. She smiled brightly, pulling him in instantly and bombarded him with continuous questions.

He told that he was here permanently, explaining as delicately as he could, not wanting to scare the old dame. She fed him and gave him something to drink after he'd asked where Sherlock was. She explained that she hadn't seen him for days as he'd not come out of the flat. She'd read about some serial suicides in the paper and heard when Lestrade had almost begged Sherlock for his help. She'd talked to him, telling him that instead of skulking he should be making his time worth it, doing something that would make John proud.

John felt his heart flutter when she told him that Sherlock refused until she brought him up. He smiled as she said that he left whispering for John.

So he kept Mrs. Hudson company while waiting for Sherlock to come back from his latest case. They both jumped up when they heard a knock on the door.

"That won't be him." She stated confused, "He would just barge in."

So the two went to the front door, pulling it open to reveal a small group of people led by a man John didn't recognize.

"Can we help you?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Yes, we need to search Sherlock Holmes' flat." He stated officially.

"For what?"

"Drugs." He said, pushing past her and leading the team upstairs.

John stood there for a few seconds before following the team to his flat. Opening the door, they all flooded in and began looking through all of Sherlock's stuff. John didn't say anything as he quietly moved to his chair, knowing that he couldn't stop this no matter how much he wanted to yell at them.

The group went about, seeming to search every aspect of the flat they deemed even remotely suspicious. John was surprised how long it took for the leader to notice him and how he was the first to notice him.

"I'm sorry, but you can't be up here right now. In fact, I'm not even sure Sherlock would want you up here whether we were here or not. God knows he doesn't even want us here." He said not unkindly.

John only leaned forward placing his elbows on his thighs and his chin resting on his linked hands. He studied the detective searching for the badge. He smiled when he read Lestrade. So this was the infuriating head detective Sherlock loved to rant about.

"Um, please, Mr…." he began, noting the camouflage suit John had yet to take off.

John opened his mouth to reply when he heard the door downstairs reopen and shut with a bang. He heard slightly heavy breathing then Mrs. Hudson's voice before the footsteps moved up the stairs. The door slammed open revealing an angry and slightly red faced Sherlock.

"What is-" he began, scanning the room, his eyes instantly falling on John.

Lestrade opened his mouth to answer the unfinished question, but Sherlock only barreled past him and hurtled himself at John. John scooted up and pulled Sherlock into his lap. He instantly wound his hands into John's uniform, his head burrowing itself in John's neck. John wrapped both arms around Sherlock's back, moving one up to cradle his head.

Both forgetting their audience, Sherlock sobbed into John's neck, clutching at his uniform. John rocked them back and forth, murmuring to Sherlock sweet nothings. John noted, much to his displeasure that Sherlock was much lighter than when he'd last seen him.

"I thought you were dead!" Sherlock cried.

"I'm sorry Love, I'm so sorry. My family ruined it, but I'm here now, we won't be apart ever again."

"Promise." Sherlock demanded.

"I promise." He whispered, kissing Sherlock's temple.

Sherlock pulled away and gave John the largest, happiest smile he'd thought he'd ever seen.

"You aren't going back." he stated. Instead of answering, John pulled Sherlock down into a long languid kiss.

When they pulled apart, Lestrade gave an awkward cough, bringing both men's attention back to the present. Sherlock blushed slightly as John smiled loving Sherlock's innocently embarrassed face.

"Well, erm, I'd ask who this is but we have a case that needs solving." He said looking between both men.

"But-" Sherlock began, looking back at John.

"Go, finish it, when you get back we'll celebrate." John said, turning Sherlock to face the still shocked crowd.

Sighing, he looked at Lestrade, "Who is Rachel?"

"The victim's daughter."

John loved to watch as Sherlock instantly went into detective mode, "Where is she? I need to speak with her!"

"Rachel was the victim's stillborn daughter." he explained.

"But that makes no sense, why would she use her daughter?"

"Yes, why did she think of her daughter in her dying seconds?" came a sarcastic voice from the kitchen.

Sherlock sneered, "She didn't think of her daughter, she scratched her name into the floor. It took effort, it would've hurt. But why would she still be upset about that?" The room fell silent, everyone staring at Sherlock. He turned to John, slightly confused, "Not good?"

"A bit not good, yeah." John replied, though a faint smile traced his lips.

"But why would she- Oh!" he cut himself off, leaping to grab his laptop. "Rachel!" he exclaimed. Being met with blank stares he repeated, "Don't you get it? Rachel!" Once again he was met with blank stares, "Look at you lot, is it nice not being me?"

"Sherlock." John sighed, wanting to get this case over with.

As if reading his mind, Sherlock instantly went back into gear, "John, read me that email address on the case."

John picked up the pink case, looking for its tag and telling Sherlock the email. He quickly typed it and punched in the password.

"Oh!" John exclaimed, "Rachel." Sherlock looked over and gave him the most dazzling smile he thought he'd ever see. John looked around noting the blank stares he was now getting. Lestrade cleared his throat once again as the two men continued to stare at one another.

Sherlock looked back and Lestrade gestured to the screen, "Right, sorry." Sherlock mumbled annoyed. The screen came up and a map appeared.

"Sherlock, care to explain?"

Huffing, Sherlock began to explain the obvious, "She was careful, with no laptop, meaning she did business with her phone. Her phone is missing, so conclusion, killer has it. If we log into her account-"

"We can read her emails?" Anderson sneered.

"Anderson, don't speak, when you do you lower the I.Q. of the entire street. We can track her phone." Sherlock said, and as if on cue a blinking red dot appeared on the map.

"Well, where is it?"

Sherlock squinted at the screen trying to understand, "It says it's here."

"Well maybe you dropped it and didn't notice."

"Me, not notice?" Sherlock asked incredulously. He turned, trying to get his brain to think.

"Sherlock, dear, your taxi's here." Mrs. Hudson said from the front door, a man slowly coming up behind her.

"I didn't order a taxi!" Sherlock snapped.

"Love, calm down." John said, pulling Sherlock back into his lap. As soon as their skin touched Sherlock jumped up.

"Oh!" he exclaimed seeing the odd man going back down. John gave him a small push that said, "Well go on!" Looking back one last time, Sherlock dashed down the stairs.

"Wait! Where is he going?" Lestrade called.

"I believe he knows who your killer is Lestrade." John said, calmly leaning back against the chair.

"How do you know my name?"

"Your badge, plus, Sherlock speaks of you often when we got the chance to talk."

"Nothing good I suppose."

"Usually, but I could tell that you are probably the closest thing he has to a friend. Despite his awkwardness, he is really fond of you."

"Erm, I guess that's good." He said, John laughed. "So who are you then?"

"John, John Watson."

"Nice to meet you, and you're Sherlock's, erm, boyfriend?" he asked, the two words not sounding right in the same sentence.

"Husband." John corrected, noting the tracking screen had just gone blank.

"No way, the Freak's married?!" came a shocked female voice from the kitchen.

"What did you call him?" John asked, knowing before anyone said anything that this was Sally Donovan.

"I called him a freak. Oh, don't give me the evil eyes, it's not like it hurts him, he doesn't have any emotion, so we all know he doesn't love you. Not really."

John slowly stood up, "It was you," he spat, "you caused that. You don't know what you've done to him do you? The mental and physical pain he's endured because of your careless words!"

"What-" John began to say the words she'd said to Sherlock the night he went to the hospital, not missing a single one. "How-"

"Well, when I called him that night I was not expecting him to have carved out his own flesh because your damned tongue couldn't stay in its mouth, because you feel the need to put that brilliant man down to try to lift your filthy arse up! You are very lucky my gun is downstairs with Mrs. Hudson." John threatened.

"Mr. Watson-" Lestrade began.

"Don't you dare tell me I'm wrong to say that, I know you saw what he did. How he was almost dead and all the blood! I want her out of our flat and I don't want her to come anywhere near my husband ever again or say a single word to him. Get out!" he said to Sally.

Her eyes were wide, and she didn't think she'd ever been more scared in her life. There was something about this man – maybe it was his military background – that made her not want to mess with him. She quickly backed out the door, the rest of the team soon following.

"Well, I'll let you know when we see him next." Lestrade said as he left. Ten minutes later the computer beeped and John noted the newest location. Groaning in understanding – he'd wanted Sherlock to finish the case, not get captured by the criminal – he ran downstairs with his laptop, pulling his gun from Mrs. Hudson's table. He didn't notice the cane that lay next to the chair.

Calling the cab, he quickly told him the address, fumbling with his phone to get to the D.I. Finally arriving, John made the split decision to go into the left building. Running around and checking each room, he began to grow more panicked. If Sherlock got himself killed right when he came back home, John would bring him back and kill him again.

Coming to the end of the hallway, John entered the last floor. He ran to the window, seeing figures moving, and cursed under his breath. He saw Sherlock lifting up a damned pill and acted without thinking. He aimed and fired at the man standing before Sherlock, not even checking to make sure he'd gotten him. He knew he had.

Running out, he quickly hid the gun in his pocket and went back to the cab. He pulled out the laptop and phone before paying him and waving him off. He heard sirens and easily stepped back as they rounded the corners. He waited impatiently as Sherlock was brought out and put in an ambulance. He laughed as they put a blanket on him every time he pulled it off.

John made his way through the tape before sitting down next to his husband. Sherlock scooted closer and John once again pulled him into his lap. Sherlock nestled his head into John's neck before pulling the blanket off again.

John laughed as the annoyed M.T. put it back on Sherlock, maneuvering to get around John and Sherlock huffed. Sherlock eyed Lestrade as he walked up.

"Why do they keep putting this blanket on me?" he grumbled, tugging on the orange fabric.

"It's for shock."

"But I'm not in shock."

"Yeah, well a couple of the guys wanted to take pictures."

Sherlock glowered, "Can we go now?"

"I guess, there's nothing to go on about the shooter."

"I wouldn't say that." Sherlock mumbled.

"Excuse me?"

"Just try to think for once, Lestrade." He sighed, getting up and pulling off the blanket. "Goodbye."

John grabbed his hand as they left the scene.

"Nice shot." Sherlock said, giving his hand a squeeze.

"You weren't going to take that bloody pill, were you?"

"I knew you would come." he said with a smile.

John rolled his eyes, "Well, I believe it's time we have a real honeymoon, don't you?"

Sherlock looked at John and nodded vigorously, liking the thought of spending an entire long period of time with only John.

"Where do you want to go?"

"You don't want to stay at Baker Street?"

"Why don't we go somewhere new and romantic. Where have you always wanted to go?"

"Um, Paris, I've always wanted to go there." Sherlock said.

"What a perfect honeymoon place. I say we buy tickets for tomorrow and stay for-"

"Three weeks!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Yes, that sounds good." John said, pulling Sherlock down for a kiss. Neither noticed the black car pull up until the door was slammed shut behind them.

"Well, I see you're back." Mycroft said looking John over. "I knew it was psychosomatic." he said, gesturing to the leg.

"Hm." John said, realizing it now.

"How's your shoulder, good doctor?"

"Fine, I may not be able to use it for much for a little while, but that's okay. There are other ways to do things." he said noting the blush staining Sherlock's cheeks. So he had got that.

Mycroft looked slightly uncomfortable before replying, "Well, Paris, for three weeks. Can you afford that?"

"We'll manage." John said.

Mycroft sighed as if he was reluctantly being pushed into doing something he would rather not, "Well, I guess I'll pay." He said.

"You don't-"

"Just think of it as a wedding present Mr. and Mr. Watson." He said before sliding back in the car.

They watched the car round the corner before looking back to one another. John reached up, caressing Sherlock's face in his hands.

"Paris…" he whispered before he pulled Sherlock in for another kiss.

_**The End**_


End file.
